“The fingerprints, without a doubt, belong to Mademoiselle Hossegor.”
Eva and Dr. Sorbier made a move to help Edwige, but she stood up, very straight and very firm, and said:
“So, Chief, there is no doubt about it: this knife is the same weapon that killed Jacques Lemoulin?”
“Yes, ma’am. And David the projectionist. I should add that in all three cases—the third murder being premeditated but aborted thanks to Gerard Parmier—the deadly weapon was wielded by a woman who looked exactly like you. And not only looked like you, but who was you.”
“Chief…”
“Excuse me, baron. You know that this time, like the others, I’m not accusing Mademoiselle Hossegor. However, you have to admit that this smells like witchcraft…”
“I did not make him say that,” Teddy whispered.
Farnese shot him an angry glance.
“OK, Monsieur the ghost detective, please explain it to us.”
“First of all,” Teddy Verano said, “there was no woman involved in any of the three murders. We’re back to this idea that was brought up yesterday. A wax doll, or maybe a robot… That’s a bit far-fetched. Still, given what happened, especially what Patrick Florent here can tell us...”
Patrick turned red, feeling very uncomfortable. Edwige tried to help him with a little smile full of kindness.
Teddy Verano noticed his discomfort.
“Monsieur Florent, do you think that the woman who came to see you last night could have smiled like Mademoiselle Hossegor is doing right now.”
Patrick stammered. They encouraged him.
“No,” he finally admitted, “it was… something else… it was… Mademoiselle Hossegor, but more… more savage… (he lowered his voice) more seductive... Oh, I’m sorry to say such a thing… in public…”
“We’re not in public,” Farnese said, “and you must speak without embarrassment. We have to clear this up, don’t forget. And above all, above all, I insist on this, we must figure out how to stop these crimes.”
“You think she’ll strike again?” Edwige cried out.
“I fear so,” replied Farnese, nodding.
Edwige started fumbling for a cigarette. Eva offered her one.
“Doctor… doctor… I know no more than the rest of you about what’s happening… but whether you’re watching over me or not, I feel a terrible responsibility in the matter.”
Everyone tried to protest.
Edwige cut them off with a wave of her hand.
“No! Listen to me, all of you. I fall asleep… or rather I fall into a cataleptic state. Oh, I can feel it coming on, but I can’t stop it. Afterward, I feel like I’m coming back from the dead.”
She spoke so sincerely that everyone in the room shuddered.
“I slept. Let’s accept this. Because in spite of everything, I pass into a dream world while I’m in this second state that affects all of you so strongly that, during my first fit, you thought I was dead, and not figuratively. Then what do I learn on waking up, on returning to consciousness? That Mephista, this Mephista, a fictional character, a creature born on paper, the work of screenwriters, to be built, molded, revised, touched up, destroyed and rebuilt as needed, like all the leading roles for a television series, this Mephista, who has no face or flesh or life, but whom, in the end, thanks to me, Edwige Hossegor, exists, this horrific demon materializes and kills or wants to kill. And two men are dead already. A third, last night, almost lost his life in the arms of this imaginary, detestable fictional incarnation of mine…”
Patrick Florent was shaking all over. Edwige walked over to him. He lowered his head as she approached. She raised his chin up, gently, then forced him to stand up. He looked more awkward than ever. She kissed him firmly and sweetly on the cheek. He could not have blushed more. Then he turned pale with joy.
“There’s no more doubt,” Edwige said. “And I am grateful to you, Gerard Parmier. Thanks to you, I don’t feel like a criminal for the third time.”
They protested again but Teddy Verano indicated he wanted to speak.
“Go on,” said Farnese, “since you don’t like this, or only partly, but you usually let other people talk and you just look and listen.”
“I want to come back,” Teddy said, “to a detail that will undoubtedly relieve Mademoiselle Hossegor of her completely imaginary feeling of responsibility. I told you about it, Gerard, and I mentioned it to you, Chief. We can’t forget about Mephista’s clothes. I say Mephista. Woman or doll, illusion or robot, maybe a little of all that... Every time Mephista shows up, she’s wearing the same clothes as Mademoiselle Hossegor. Patrick and Gerard’s description of her appearance yesterday is again in perfect agreement. Now, we found no trace of clothing in the pile of wax, which is the only remains of her visit. There was only wax, beeswax as the police lab says. Which caught fire in the most incomprehensible way...”
“What’s your conclusion?” Farnese asked.
“Nothing yet. I’m searching. Just like you, Chief.”
Farnese tried to hide a little shrug.
“It’s also true that Mephista only appears when I’m unconscious,” said Edwige. “I fear there’s a demon inside me… A lethal demon who comes out of me… to commit these horrible crimes…”
She broke down in tears. Eva was kneeling near her and Tragny was also upset. This meeting was exhausting Edwige and he did not care for it at all.
“Mademoiselle,” Farnese said, “the monster who committed these crimes does not come from inside you. It only borrows your appearance. There’s a lookalike, a dead ringer for you, unknown until now, but a lookalike.”
“Now we’re starting to agree,” Teddy Verano said.
Edwige stopped sobbing and looked at them.
“A lookalike, you say? What’s the difference? Mephista… or the entity, the power that makes her act, comes from me… Not from my body, since I know that I’m in caring, friendly hands every time... But from my appearance… and especially from my soul. Oh, that’s it, my soul is stolen! I’m thrown into a world of horror… like I told you, I feel that something horrible is coming, then I pass out… and then, after I wake up, I remember.”
She pushed Tragny and Eva away.
“I told you all, I can’t live like this anymore… My life is impossible. I want no more murders, no more blood spilled, no more inexplicable phenomena… I feel like I’m damned, yes, that I’m going to be cursed for being mixed up in all this, as if this Mephista, who started as make-believe, is now another Edwige, the other part of me, a nocturnal, blood-red, evil Edwige.”
“But, Edwige!” Tragny shouted. “You’re here, you’re sleeping, you’re never at the scene of the crime.”
“It’s me,” she repeated, “I know it’s me… I can’t go on… no more… I don’t want to live like this…”
She was frightening to look at, her nerves so frayed. She trembled convulsively.
“If it starts up again… if I feel a crisis coming on… I won’t sleep…”
She ran over to Sorbier and shook his arm frantically.
“Doctor, listen to me… I must stay awake… I have to … I mustn’t not fall into that again. Not have those blood-red dreams to find out, when I wake up, that during my temporary death, I somehow participated in a murder.”
“I promise you. But you have to calm down, my dear.’
Tragny shielded Edwige with his body.
“Messieurs, I think you can understand that this meeting has exhausted Mademoiselle Hossegor. Isn’t that right, doctor?”
Doctor Sorbier motioned to Eva to take Edwige away but she spoke again:
“Rather than start up again… Death! I’d rather die…”
An instant later, she excused herself and left the room.
Farnese and Verano left the house, shown out by the baron who was not very friendly and was visibly angry with them for not having freed Edwige of her fantasies. Gerard and Patrick followed behind them. They were no longer thinking about arguing o
r fighting, and what was strange was that they were becoming fast friends.
Teddy Verano whispered to Farnese:
“Considering Edwige Hossegor’s nature, she played the scene wonderfully.”
“A little overacted, eh? That’s my opinion too. Actresses are often outdone by their acting. I have to admit that this Mephista is very dramatic, but maybe a little exaggerated.”
“In any case, we’ve been privy to quite a unique and never-before-seen episode of the adventures of Mephista. A real hit, as they say in the business.”
“So tell me, Verano, what are you thinking? I’m sure you have an idea.”
“Uh… Chief… maybe a little later. Oh, by the way, I want to ask you something. Can I go back with you? Yes, to the station. Department: parking tickets.”
“What a funny idea. What do you want there?.”
“I want to check if by chance there were any interesting vehicles parked in the vicinity of Mephista’s various crimes when she showed up.”
Farnese looked at him curiously.
“An idea in the back of your head?”
“Can I look through the fruit of the meter maids’ work?”
“If you’d like.”
Farnese brought Verano to the department in question. Decidedly, he thought, private detectives have very peculiar methods.
CHAPTER XIII
On recognizing her husband’s voice, Yvonne knew right away what was going to happen.
“You’re going to tell me that you’re not coming home for dinner again tonight.”
She heard Teddy Verano’s quiet laugh.
“My dear, I pay my respects to your insight. But don’t worry, I’ll be home later this evening.”
“Let’s say later tonight.” Yvonne Verano sighed before asking, “Any news?”
“Oh yes. Well, maybe.”
“About… which case?”
It must be explained that Yvonne, caught now between her detective husband and her son learning the trade, had no choice but to stay up-to-date on their investigations.
“It’s about… You know...” Teddy Verano whispered.
“Oh!” Yvonne exclaimed.
“Be quiet, dear. Has Gerard come back?”
“Not yet. Do you want… to take him with you?”
“No. I’m going to pay a little personal visit. Outside of Paris. Yes, I found something in the files that good old Farnese let me look through at the station.”
Yvonne felt worried. This was not the usual, harmless affair that Teddy Verano generally dealt with. Besides the shadowing, the pre-marriage spying, staking out adulterers or investigating shady businessmen, there were often enough elements that were related to the Occult, which Teddy Verano had made his specialty.
And now, for a little while, there was the great adventure of Mephista. From the start Yvonne could see, with the heart of a wife and mother, that Teddy and Gerard were confronting an incomprehensible monster.
“Don’t worry,” Teddy Verano said, “I assure you, at least for tonight, that I’m taking no risk at all. A little detour in the countryside, that’s all.”
“Far from Paris?”
“Less than 100 miles. In the Loiret. An area in which my investigations seem to take me a lot, I don’t know why…”
Another sigh from Yvonne. A mysterious premonition was making her anxious.
“Darling,” Teddy Verano said, “do you want to write it down?”
“Yes. Hold on, I’ll get a pen… OK, I’m listening…”
“Write: Monsieur Verrier, Jules. Beekeeper. Cerisiers—that’s the name of his town. Not far off the highway, near a maze of ponds.”
“Why so many details? Oh, Teddy! You know there’s danger. You’re risking your life…”
“No, my love. It’s just that… whether we like it or not, Gerard is now my assistant, my right arm man—please don’t sigh like that again—he has to stay informed.”
“So, that’s where you’re going?”
“It’s around 3 p.m. now. I’ll get there around five. So you see, if I say I’ll be back this evening, it’s completely reasonable with the Citroën DS.”
“And then? What should I tell Gerard?”
“To telephone Tragny. Yes, the baron. And tell him what I found. Edwige Hossegor made me promise to keep her informed of all my discoveries.” There was his quiet laugh again. “Whether true or imaginary. But I’m thinking that this particular find might prove interesting. If I’m wrong, too bad. The weather’s not bad and I’ll be taking a nice little trip. There’s the sun, the flowers… it’s the ideal season for bees.”
“Teddy, what if I were to go with you?”
“Don’t think of it, honey. What about your son? He needs to contact the baron as well as Edwige.”
“Why don’t you do that yourself?”
“Women… eternally curious.”
Yvonne’s voice became nervous.
“Teddy… you smell danger and you want to keep Gerard away from it, don’t you?”
He had some trouble convincing her. In the end, he explained what it was all about and Yvonne admitted that it might just be a lead to follow.
Ten minutes later, Teddy Verano’s DS passed the Porte d’Italie and cruised onto the southern highway at almost 90 miles an hour. He was more and more convinced that a criminal, like everyone else, used a car since it was difficult to live on the planet today without getting around in one.
His reasoning was simple. Mephista—be she woman, wax doll or robot—had to have been taken to the scene of her crime by… someone. He got the idea of searching through the parking tickets given around Tragny’s house on the Rue de Ranelagh, around Jacques Lemoulin’s apartment, then around the Champs-Elysées and Boulevard Voltaire at the time when the demon killer showed up. He had spent hours and hours at it. Listing, classifying, comparing and contemplating. Relying on detective’s luck, especially when something clicks all of a sudden, for no rhyme or reason, and all the pieces fall into place.
He had passed over the clue without looking twice the first time, but the second time…
There had, indeed, been two tickets given for illegal parking to the same van during both Lemoulin’s murder and the night of Patrick Florent’s attack, when Mephista, or what stood in for her, had ended up combusting spontaneously and incomprehensibly, leaving nothing but a pile of melted, charred wax.
When he read the name, address and profession, for the second time Teddy Verano jumped.
“Can it be…”
False hopes, very often in such cases. Such a thin, superficial connection. But it could hold up. After making the necessary call to Yvonne, he was on his way.
To the town of Cerisiers, with which he was vaguely familiar.
To the home of Jules Verrier, beekeeper.
He drove at such a good pace that he arrived, in fact, in the sunny afternoon well before five o’clock as planned.
At Cerisiers, a few miles off the highway, among the stretches of flatland where fishponds stagnated and a still vibrant wildlife had escaped human massacres, Teddy entered the small town and became what he usually was on these kinds of trips: Theo Verdier, salesman.
Just in case, he had changed his look slightly with the help of a false moustache. He always kept the necessary materials in the DS, so when he got out he looked a little heavier, walked a little slower, smiled a little wider and spoke more loudly, which was unlike him. A briefcase engraved with T.V. and appropriate business cards—everything was ready for the show.
In rural country like this, there was usually only one store for food, drink and tobacco. There the fake Monsieur Verdier bought cigarettes, drank a glass of white wine with a hazelnut aroma, and talked a lot, explaining that he was on the lookout for beekeeper’s honey, etc.
The grocer/bartender/tobacconist told him about two possible suppliers: a young lady named Farmond, who was very well known in apiculture, and, of course, Jules Verrier.
“Mademoiselle Farmond? Yes, she’s the
one they told me about.” He consulted his notebook. “Does she live far from here?”
These towns are usually very spread out, made up of hamlets and large properties like farms or castles. He got a little information on Farmond and was about to start in on Verrier when two guys burst into the shop.
“Look,” the friendly owner said, “these guys can tell you where the gentleman you’re looking for lives.”
“Monsieur Verrier?” the two of them asked together.
“Exactly. Monsieur here is looking for honey.”
“Ah! OK,” one of them said, “we thought it was for the movies.”
The comment was so unexpected that Teddy Verano, despite his usual cool-headedness, was stunned.
“The movies? Does Monsieur Verrier have a movie theater? Here? In Cerisiers?”
“Of course not, M’sieur. Well, yes, kind of, I mean…”
The misunderstanding was quickly cleared up. Teddy Verano learned that the Monsieur Verrier, a jolly good sixty-year old if ever there was one, had established a little film club in his house (a big old manor house) where the young people from Cerisiers and the area would meet.
For a long time, he had belonged to the Federation du Cinema Amateur and was passionate about everything concerning movies and cameras, including television, radio, really everything that modern physics had brought to man in the world of images and entertainment.
Teddy felt his interest grow the longer they talked about him. Mysterious connections started forming in his mind about things that had, in fact, been very vague before arriving in Cerisiers. So, he bought himself another drink and talked some more.
Jules Verrier had a real workshop going the all the kids from town who wanted to learn about radio or similar technology could go and work there whenever they wanted. He even gave courses, helped the newcomers, improved their skills and organized screenings where all the kids apparently had a good time, not to mention the prominent local figures. They watched classic silent films and some avant-garde productions reserved for club members. A strange character, for sure, but considered a little like a philanthropist.
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